


Me And All My Friends

by bashert



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Gen, Post-Finale, married-ness, prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-19 00:02:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1447876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bashert/pseuds/bashert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Some days she wished there were at least four of her to go around. She felt like she was being pulled in a thousand different directions.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Everyone needs Mac.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Me And All My Friends

**Author's Note:**

> This is for lilacmermaid25 on Tumblr who gave me this prompt: Mac loves Will, but Don and Jim are her boys too, and the worst days are the ones where all three of her guys need hugs at the same time.
> 
> The title is from Walk the Moon. And yeah. I hope I did the prompt justice.

MacKenzie McHale was overwhelmed.

It was one of those days where it seemed like every person on the staff was having a crisis and needed _her_ to fix it. Graphics was having issues, Tamara and Neal hit a dead end on a story that they had been working on for weeks, and every time she put out a fire, something new came up.

She was exhausted, and it wasn’t even noon yet.

Some days she wished there were at least four of her to go around. She felt like she was being pulled in a thousand different directions.

And on top of it all, Will was sick.

Mac had forgotten what a damn _baby_ he could be when he was sick. The last time she had dealt with an under-the-weather Will was when he had ended up in the hospital (and that was an experience that Mac never needed to repeat, thank you very much. Her goddamn heart had fucking stopped at the sight of him bloody and still on his bathroom floor), and he had been miserable then, but unwilling (or _unable_ , she could at least give him the benefit of the doubt. It had taken a long time for them to get to where they were, and she knew, considering Will’s childhood, it had been an uphill battle, to say the least, for him to acknowledge his part in the saga that was Mac and Will) to allow MacKenzie to help him or take care of him in any way. Especially before it was revealed that, thanks to Reese Lansing, Mac had never _heard_ the infamous voicemail (he had finally admitted what it said after they had crawled into bed in the wee hours of Election Night, when he had tugged her to him, molded his body around hers and admitted, “I said I had never stopped loving you. In the voicemail? I said I never stopped. I _never_ stopped, MacKenzie. Not once, not for a fucking second.” And she had begun to cry, exhausted beyond belief, her emotions mixed and coming in waves, and Will had buried his head in her chest and pressed kisses to her breastbone repeating, “please, Mac, please sweetheart, please don’t cry.”)

But now, comfortable in their relationship ( _married_ , for God’s sake. Actually, _legally_ bound to each other, for better or for worse, for all eternity), Will was more than willing to let his new wife take care of him. That meant showing up in her office and whining about his head, and his stuffy nose, and his sore throat, and Mac was sympathetic, but she was also unsure what he wanted her to do about it. She had told him to stay home, more than once actually, but he had insisted that he could do the show. She had run down to the drug store for him, buying cough drops, nasal spray, and she even stopped at that place with the soup he liked best, but she couldn’t miraculously cure him. She understood, on an intellectual level, that Will just wanted someone to whine to, but she was already having a _day_ , and he wasn’t helping.

She had finally gotten a reprieve after the first run down meeting.  Will had finally taken her advice and went to lay down in his office, after MacKenzie promised at least seventeen times that she would wake him up in plenty of time to finish the script, graphics figured the problem out, Tamara had found a new lead, and things were, for the moment, under control.

Mac dropped into her office chair, a headache forming ( _please, oh please,_ she thought, _don’t let me catch whatever Will has_. Even as she thought it, she knew that it was a near impossibility considering how much time she and Will spent in close quarters. It was really just a matter of time). She kicked off her shoes (beautiful but painful) and leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes for a moment when she heard a knock at her door.

It was Jim, sticking his head in timidly.

“Come in,” she said wearily, and Jim stepped in. “What’s up, Jim?”

“You look overwhelmed, you know what? It doesn’t matter, I’ll just leave, it doesn’t…”

“Sit Jim,” she instructed. And he practically collapsed into the seat across from her. She frowned when she saw that Jim was visibly upset about something. “What’s wrong?”

“My dad called,” Jim started, running his hands down his thighs in a way that Mac was familiar with. She had spent too much time with Jim in dangerous situations to not know his tell-tale signs. He was scared. It made her heart speed up slightly, and her frown deepened. His mom. Oh fuck, _his mom_. Jim’s mom had been diagnosed with relapsing remitting MS just before he had left to be embedded. Jim hadn’t wanted to go, hadn’t wanted to be that far away from her in the aftermath of the diagnosis, but his mother had been firm. “The opportunity of a lifetime, James,” she had insisted. “Go, go, go. I’ll be fine.” And she had been. A few flare ups, but she had been, for the most part, fine while Jim was gone. He had opened every letter with caution, as if every letter had the potential to bring bad news, hurt him.

“How’s your mom?” Mac asked immediately.

“She’s had an attack,” Jim sighed, running a hand over his face. “She’s okay, my dad said she’s okay, but she woke up and couldn’t see out of her left eye, and…” he shuddered. “It’s hard, you know, to be away from them sometimes.” Mac nodded, understanding. She had been on her own for a long time, but she still missed her parents, worried about them. She could only imagine how helpless Jim felt.

“Do you need to go home?” Mac’s voice was gentle.

“No,” Jim shook his head. “No, my dad said that I didn’t need to come home.”

“Do you _want_ to go home?” Mac asked.

“We’re busy right now,” Jim muttered. “With everything going on, I couldn’t possibly, everyone’s working long days and late hours as it is.”

“Jim, we’ll work it out, I’ll work it out. If you need to go home, you need to go home. And you shouldn’t worry about us,” Mac insisted. _This?_ This was the least that she could for Jim. Jim who had stuck by her side, followed her loyally, stuck up for her fiercely, carried her bleeding body out of a riot, huddled by her side during long nights when the sky lit up and the ground shook. She owed Jim so much.

“Mac, I can’t,” Jim tried, but she could see that he wanted to go, his refusal was out of instinct. She shook her head vehemently.

“Go, Jim,” her voice firm. “But come here first.” She stood and gestured him over. She wrapped her arms around him. “Tell your parents I’m thinking about them, and if there’s anything I can do…”

“Thanks Mac,” he muttered into her shoulder.

“Pass anything you’re working on to Maggie, and get the hell out of here, Jim,” Mac pulled back, put her hands on his shoulders, and gave them a squeeze. Jim nodded, relief and gratitude written plainly on his face.

“I’ll let you know before I leave. I’ll just wrap up some loose ends,” Jim promised.

After the door shut behind him, Mac pinched the top of her nose. She had just sat back down when Don came tearing in her office.

“Your best friend is a fucking lunatic,” he exclaimed, pacing in front of her desk like a caged tiger.

“What did Sloan do?” Mac sighed.

“We’re supposed to go on that trip this weekend? With my parents? And she’s being crazy, actually _crazy_ , Mac. She’s met them before. She’s met them several times. I’m not sure what the problem is, but I’m slowly losing my damn mind.”

“She’s nervous,” Mac replied. Don sighed and finally stopped pacing. Despite the fact that Sloan was, as Don pointed out, Mac’s best friend, it was Don who usually came to Mac to discuss relationship problems. Don had somehow become one of Mac’s people. Her inner circle. She and Don had been lonely and confused together, and now they were in stable, solid, happy relationships and still, often times, confused together. (Mac knew that Sloan went to Will, usually, for advice. Mac was the one that Sloan ranted to, the one who lent a sympathetic ear, but if Sloan was looking for actual direction, she always went to Will. Mac wasn’t sure if that hurt her feelings or not, but the truth was that Will was, for the most part, _awful_ at relationship advice, so she started to suspect that Sloan went to Will for advice so that she could do the exact opposite of whatever Will suggested. That theory made MacKenzie feel better at least, whether there was any truth to it or not.)

“Well, she shouldn’t be, they love her. They love her more than they love me. They’re going to love spending the weekend with her. She’s needs to stop fucking worrying about it,” Don huffed.

“Easier said than done,” Mac shrugged.

“Can you talk to her?” Don asked. “Tell her to relax a little bit? She’s driving me crazy.”

“I can try,” Mac offered. “But I don’t think it’s going to do much good.”

“No,” Don admitted. “I don’t think it will either.” He tipped his head back and let out a long breath. “But you’ll still talk to her?”

“Yes,” Mac promised, even though adding talking Sloan off a ledge to her list was the very last thing she wanted to do.

“Okay, great, let me know how it goes,” Don shot her a grateful smile. “I’m going to avoid her until you do, so you know, if you need me, I’ll be hiding somewhere.”

* * *

It occurred to Mac that she really should learn to lock her door.

The show was set, Mac had cornered Sloan and let her spill out all of her fears and worries about spending the weekend with Don’s parents, Mac had gently woken Will up to finish his script, and Jim had informed her that he had booked a flight for later that night and was just wrapping up some last minute things before he left. (“I can stay, though,” he had said at least three more times, and she understood, really she did, but if he offered one more time Mac was liable to lose her shit).

It had been a long day, it was no where near over, and Mac just wanted to go home and try again tomorrow. She was in her office, preparing for the show when Jim knocked and stepped in.

“I’m leaving soon,” he told her. “Are you sure that you don’t…”

“I’m sure,” she interrupted. “Really Jim, you need to be at home right now.”

“If you’re sure,” Jim began.

“I am,” her voice was firm. Jim opened his mouth to say more, but Will, without knocking, of course, opened her door and stepped inside.

“I feel like fucking shit,” he announced. “Why am I doing the show tonight? I’m fucking sick.” Mac took a deep breath. She did not tell her husband that she had told him to stay home fifty times. She did not tell him that he had a cold, and he was behaving as if he was dying. She did not say that while he was sleeping on his couch all afternoon she had been running around trying to do eight things at once. She bit her tongue and counted to ten instead.

“I really shouldn’t leave,” Jim started. “Not if Will’s not feeling well. I’ll just cancel my flight.”

“Flight?” Will asked, confused. “Where are you going?”

“Mac? Did you talk to Sloan?” Don asked, by way of greeting, throwing open her door and stepping inside. “Can I come out of hiding yet?” Mac rubbed her forehead.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Jim answered.

“Yes you _are_ ,” Mac insisted.

“What’s going on?” Don asked, looking around at the three of them confused. “Is something going on? I’ve been hiding all day,” he said as an explanation, turning to Will.

“I know, I heard all about it from Sloan,” Will told him. ‘“While I was trying to sleep, I might point out. Because I’m _fucking sick_.”

“I’ll just get back to work,” Jim gestured to his desk, and Mac slammed her hands down on her desk.

“No!” She exclaimed and all three men’s eyes widened in her direction. “You will not. You will keep your flight and go home. We’re _fine_ , Jim. I don’t want to see you again in this newsroom until Monday. Go home, see your mom, make sure she’s okay. Call me, okay? And I say this with the utmost love and affection, get the fuck out of here.” She came out from around her desk and gave him one more hug. “Go.” Jim nodded, and slipped out of her office. Mac wheeled around to face Don.

“I talked to Sloan, she’s nervous. I know she’s driving you crazy, but you’re not helping by dismissing her concerns. Just go talk to her, or let her talk to you,” Mac instructed. “Let her get it out of her system before Friday. Go. Now.” She placed a gentle hand on Don’s back and pushed gently.

“But,” he started to argue, and then he shut up, nodded and gave Mac’s shoulders a quick squeeze. “You’re right.” He left her office, and Mac turned to her husband.

“I’m sick,” he whined before she could say anything.

“I know, sweetheart, but you’re not dying, so maybe we can cut out the melodramatics?” She requested.

“You’re having a day, aren’t you?” Will asked.

“Yes,” Mac sighed. “I really fucking am.”

“And I haven’t helped?”

“No,” she admitted. “You really have not.” He pulled her to him, and she buried her head in his sweater.

“Jim’s going home?”

“Yes,” she answered simply.

“His mom?” Will asked.

“He said his dad said she’s going to be all right, but he needs to go home and see for himself,” Mac explained. Will nodded.

“And Sloan’s driving Don crazy?”

“She’s afraid if they spend a whole weekend with her his parents won’t like her anymore,” Mac couldn’t help but giggle. “She said that she can only be taken in small doses.” She felt the rumble of Will’s chuckle under her cheek.

“She’s sort of right,” he murmured.

“Yeah,” Mac sighed.

“I’ll be fine doing the show,” Will declared.

“I know,” Mac agreed.

“You did tell me to stay home.”

“I did.”

“I didn’t listen.”

“But you should have,” she added.

“I should always listen,” he sighed

“You really should.”

“Can we get the fuck out of here as soon as I’m off the air?” Mac sighed, and Will tightened his hold on her.

“Fuck yes,” she breathed.

“I’m sorry I’ve been a pain in the ass today,” Will  apologized.

“You’re not feeling well, you’re allowed,” Mac reassured.

“I’m really fucking sick,” Will whined, and Mac couldn’t help but shake her head and smile.

“I know, sweetheart,” she told him, pulling back and brushing the hair away from his face. “I can get Elliott to do the show, if you want.”

“I’m here. I’ve been here all day. I might as well do the show,” Will said. “But I think I’ll stay home tomorrow.”

“Good plan,” Mac nodded.

And tomorrow, she thought, she’d just lock her damn door.


End file.
